


Rebuild

by Daiya_Darko



Series: Cracks in Stable Foundations [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daiya_Darko/pseuds/Daiya_Darko
Summary: When Erik's punishment for his crimes against Wakanda takes a turn for the morally ambiguous, Nakia is left to pick up the pieces of the man she nearly destroyed.





	1. You Are (Not) Alone

**Author's Note:**

> "One shot to your heart without breaking your skin  
> No one has the power to hurt you like your kin  
> Kept inside didn't tell no one else  
> Didn't even wanna admit it to yourself 
> 
> Now your chest burns and your back aches  
> From 15 years of holding the pain  
> And now you only have yourself to blame  
> If you continue to live this way "

The cell was sparse and cold, not unlike solitary confinement in a maximum security prison. It was far cleaner, and at least Erik had a futon on the floor to sleep on, but it still wasn't ideal. He looked around to assess his surroundings, seeking any exploitable gap in the Wakandan security only to realize he was truly stuck there. Without any weapons or even another person to use and manipulate, Erik had finally found himself stuck, and by the one person he least expected.

“Fuck!” Erik shouted to no one. He punched the wall, kicked the door, screamed himself hoarse until sweat beaded on his brow and he was exhausted. He resigned himself to sitting on the futon and sulking, at least until he could figure out his next step. Suicide was out of the question; the lights were implanted into the ceiling and there was no leverage for him to even hang himself. The sink was just a spout sticking out the wall with a drain directly underneath. The toilet was a literal hole in the ground.

Erik hated prisons. Aside from the use of prisons in America to continue modern day slavery under a flawed judicial system, they were stifling and Erik loathed being confined. This was why he had wanted to die, why he  _ thought  _ he had still beat T’Challa when he removed his sword. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown to him, Erik was still kicking with next to no scars to show for it. He laid down on the futon and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, looking for any security cameras. If he could make himself look like a threat to his own safety, someone would intervene, and he could use that as an opportunity to escape. 

But he could see no camera. Either they were perfectly hidden or they had truly left him to his own devices, in nothing but cotton pants and a loose fitting shirt. They hadn't even dignified him with underwear.

_ Easier to take a shit, _ Erik mused begrudgingly. He inhaled deeply and sat up to pull his shirt off. He laid back down and ran a hand over his abdomen, tracing the keloids to occupy his hands that itched to act on  _ something.  _ As it were, he didn't even have the resources to injure himself. He couldn't even give himself a stick and poke if he felt like it.

Erik balled his fists and began counting his breaths. 

_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight – _

“M’s in my bank account,” Erik sang aloud. He laughed at his own joke, getting distracted by the catchy song, and rolled off the futon. He continued rapping the rest of the song, doing push ups to the beat.

* * *

“What are you planning, Nakia? Interrogating prisoners isn't exactly in line with your calling,” T’Challa asked as they stood outside Erik's cell. It had been a last minute makeshift structure added to Shuri's lab for maximum surveillance and security. On the off chance he managed to escape, he wouldn't make it very far with guards posted outside waiting.

Nakia shrugged with a smile. “You have a great specimen for research. If we plan to help our people, we have to be prepared to help  _ all  _ our people, including the felons. There's many more like Erik, although not to the degree of him per se, but if they had been helped rather than punished, there would be less repeat offenders.”

“You're so wise,” Erik leaned down to kiss her. “You should be the king instead of me.”

Nakia grinned, pressing her hands into T’Challa's chest as she leaned up for another kiss. “You shouldn't be so quick to praise me, your highness. I'm using less than ethical methods to accomplish my goal here.”

T’Challa's hands wrapped around Nakia’s waist and he hummed. “Oh really? Tell me more.”

Nakia took him by the hand and led him over to her also makeshift office next door where she could observe Erik unknowingly via a fiber optic camera in the corner of the room and his vitals on a computer screen. She had another screen up, various PDFs open with passages highlighted for reference, pulled one up to show T’Challa.

“This is a study on the effects of social isolation, and this,” Nakia pulled up another document, “Is about the psychological effects of solitary confinement as described by a prisoner. I'm kind of doing my own experiment, but I wonder if we can't change his behavior with conditioning.”

T’Challa furrowed his brow. “This seems incredibly unethical.”

“He will be fine, T’Challa,” Nakia reassured, rolling her eyes slightly. “He's former black ops; they're trained to withstand torture, and his mind is highly advanced. He's probably working out or reciting something as we speak to keep his mind and body sharp and active.”

“And the conditioning?”

Nakia switched to another article. “Basic psychology. Pavlov’s dog. He will not interact with anyone for the first six months, and then I will speak to him. Depending on how he's doing those first six months determines which direction my experiment goes.”

“And your thesis?”

Nakia’s eyes lit up, as if she'd been waiting for him to finally ask. “If you place a killer in an environment where he can no longer harm others, then the desire to do so will go extinct. Much like a conditioned response goes extinct after being stimulated with no reward too many times, I believe I can make a well adjusted member of society while also delivering just punishment for his crimes.”

“This seems...convoluted.”

“Just because you don't see the bigger picture doesn't mean it isn't there,” Nakia smirked. “He will be fed with no contact until six months in. If his spirit is still strong and resilient, if he shows no remorse, I continue.”

“And if his mental health degrades further?”

“I stop everything and reassess.”

T’Challa nodded, but he didn't seem convinced. “Alright, just don't go falling in love with a murderer as you watch  him all hours of the day.”

Nakia laughed, shoving T’Challa away even as he pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

* * *

The lights never go out in solitary confinement. Most prisoners knock out their bulbs in order to get some darkness and sleep, but without any way to mark the passage of time, it becomes difficult. 

Erik kept track of the time with each song he sang. He knew how long each track was, and used them to track the time. Three minutes passed, four minutes. A guitar solo that’s 1:50 long. The entire length of a forty minute album. This was how he knew it had been three hours since his first meal, rice porridge with pieces of chicken and juice. It wasn’t common to receive a specific meal that indicated the time of day in solitary, and Erik figured Wakanda was following in America’s footsteps for at least  _ one  _ thing.

A meal every six hours. If that had been lunch, the next meal would be dinner. Regardless, Erik always slept after his third meal. That was the best he could track the days, even if he never slept for long. It was still a guessing game, but it was a system. He had to keep a system going to keep his sanity.

According to his calculations, it had been two weeks already. He seriously needed a shower, but it wasn't the worst situation he'd been in. He tore some of his shirt to use as a rag, and used it to wash up his more smelly parts to the best of his ability, always rinsing the rag as thoroughly as possible.

Four weeks in, and songs had started to mix together with each other. Erik spoke to himself in various languages instead, a temporary fix to his cognitive fatigue until the languages began to mix after six weeks in.

Eight weeks in and Erik began running laps in his cell. He was getting antsy again, but exercise at least tired him out to sleep for longer periods of time. He stopped counting the days.

Twelve weeks, and Erik has started talking to himself out loud because he doesn't want to start hearing voices. Some days are better than others, as he tried to recall his training. They prepared him for this and even worse situations. He could survive this with his mental health in tact.

“This finna be a  _ breeze _ ,” Erik said to the spigot. “I don't even wanna leave here no more. This my home now.”

The spigot didn't respond, but it didn't have to. Erik had already moved on to talking to the gray figure in the corner of the room.

* * *

Nakia noticed increased levels of cortisol in Erik's system from the read out on her screen. The toilet doubled as a collection for urine and stool samples to analyze his physical condition, which seemed fine except for the last two months. Tomorrow she would be greeting him, but now she was concerned: what could have caused him stress in there? His behavior seemed fine, he still moved around plenty unlike most prisoners who became lethargic. He ate all his meals and drank plenty of water. He had stopped bathing, but didn't defecate on himself either. He was sleeping. Nakia fully expected him to be lucid when she stepped in the cell the next day.

The first thing Nakia noticed when the door slid open was the smell. It  _ reeked  _ of body odor, and Nakia had to fight to not gag. She forced a smile to her face and called out his name. 

Erik turned to face her, and Nakia's eyes widened. His beard had grown out, his eyes had heavy bags underneath, and his hair also had grown out, becoming matted and tangled. He was shirtless, breathing growing rapid as his eyes struggled to focus on her.

“Oh great, now I'm hallucinating about that bitch too. You see this shit, man?” Erik asked no one standing next to him. He scoffed and sat on the mattress, ignoring Nakia.

“Erik, I'm real,” she said softly, taking slow and measured steps to his futon. She knelt next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Erik leapt away as if he had been scalded with a hot iron, pressing himself against the wall. His eyes became large, revealing just how bloodshot they were, and his breathing quickened. 

“What are you? What's going on?” He asked frantically, and Nakia could feel guilt rising up in her throat like bile.

“Erik, it's okay, you're not hallucinating! It's me, Nakia!”

Erik blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to process the image before him: Nakia, the woman with the soft cheeks and the fierce eyes who he'd previously fought in battle, was trying to reassure him.

Erik slid to the floor, hyperventilating as his brain was overwhelmed with new information. She had  _ touched  _ him. She was real. The first person he'd seen in months.

Nakia called for help and rushed to kneel in front of Erik, holding his face in her hands. “Erik? Look at me, I need you to breathe  _ slowly,  _ okay? In through your mouth and out through your nose. I'm taking you out of here, okay?” Her voice warbled on the last word, the desperate plea somehow getting through to Erik as he finally began to understand: he was leaving.

Doctors came into the room, and Nakia tried to stand and move out their way but Erik clung to her, holding her arm tightly.

“Don't leave!” He begged, tears soaking into his beard. “I can't be alone again!”

Nakia's careful self control began to crack, but she held back her tears to pat his hand. “I'll be here, okay? They just want to make sure you're okay. I'm not leaving you.”

Erik nodded and reluctantly let go, finally letting the doctors and guards escorts him out.

Nakia stepped out the cell to see T’Challa waiting, concern and confusion a muddled expression on his face. She shook her head, trying to move past him, but T’Challa stopped her.

“I don't want to rub it in your face, Nakia. You were trying to do the right thing.”

“I broke him,” she sobbed, collapsing into his chest. T’Challa's arms wrapped around her, shushing her as he led her away to her office. In the privacy of the room, she confessed that she hadn't been listening to the audio, only watching the video feed.

“He seemed perfectly fine! Nothing was off in the numbers or observed behavior! I overestimated his availability to withstand trauma, and now he's scared of being alone!” Nakia cried.

“He has always been afraid of being alone,” T’Challa spoke quietly. “It's just that now you've stripped him of his shell.”

“What do I do? I can't continue my research like this, I need to find a better way,” Nakia murmured. She wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes and began pacing, unsure of what she was looking for.

T’Challa watched her but didn't move to stop her. He never had been good at stopping Nakia. “You finish your experiment and report your findings. See if he's still homicidal, and if not, see how you can put him back together again, better.” He strolled over to where she stood over her desk, shuffling papers in an attempt to ease her mind and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don't you go crazy on me too,” T’Challa said, kissing her forehead. “I believe in you.”

When Nakia finally left her office to join the medical team, Erik was strapped to a table and sedated. The doctors talked with Nakia about his psychological evaluation. While he was, in fact, in overall good health, the effects of isolation in part with previous trauma and possible preexisting mental illnesses had created a perfect storm, triggering him once he realized he was in touch with reality again. Nakia listened carefully, nodding along as they explained the possible difficulties he would have readjusting to society.

“The only good news is that he never fit in much to begin with,” a doctor said, “so consider this a blank slate to build off of.”

Nakia wanted to disagree, but T'Challa had said something similar. It didn't feel right, even with all the good people reassuring her that she wasn't a horrible monster. There was no way this could be good for Erik, for  _ anybody. _ But had he deserved it? After all the pain and destruction he'd caused, all the innocent lives he took, even after attempting to kill T’Challa, did he deserve a punishment worse than death?

His motivations had been murky, covered in revenge and hurt, but his underlying goal stemmed from the same olive branch as Nakia's: Wakanda could be helping people, and  _ should.  _ With the right guidance and influence, Erik could have been a good ally to Nakia.

And it was that realization that made Nakia send the doctors away so that she could be alone with Erik.

 

Through the haze of drugs, everything sounded distant but the lights here were softer than the fluorescent bulbs Erik had been subjected to for months. He breathed slowly, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. He just wanted to sleep, but he didn't know how long it would be for. 

Then, a face blocked out the brightness, a sweet darkness that served as a reprieve from the constant light. It smiled at him, soft lips and hopeful eyes. It said, “You're going to be okay, Erik. When you're better, we can start making the world a better place.”

And then the mask was off, and strong yet supple hands were helping him sit up on the medical bed. Automatically, Erik swung his legs over and allowed himself to be guided down into a hoverchair. He floated down corridors, the same kind voice still talking to him and keeping him grounded, holding onto his shoulder for support. Erik relaxed into the grip and let himself be taken away. Where he was going, he did not know. The ship he was loaded onto felt like something out of a dream; had he stayed up too late again watching TV? The Star Trek reruns usually played at that time.

And then he was inside a building, inside a room. The hands took him from his chair, and on wobbly legs Erik was determined to find his strength again. He couldn't look weak for the angel. It had chosen him to save the world.

He walked down a corridor, and into a bathroom with a large tub. It was already full of warm water and smelled like coconuts, mango, and lime. He understood what was meant to happen here, and removed his pants to slide into the gentle waters. Some of the fog lifted from his brain at the contact, and Erik shuddered as he tried to piece together what was a drug induced dream and what was his fractured mind trying to keep him calm. The hands returned, joined by a pair of legs that slipped into the water on either side of him, pants legs rolled up to the knees. Erik squinted, trying to figure out the owner of the legs until hands began to dig in his hair.

Erik melted into Nakia's touch, tears sliding down his face as his hair was washed for the first time in months. She took extra time to pour water over his head, to scrub deep down into the scalp until Erik almost fell asleep from the soothing movements of her fingers against his skin. The lather sounded heavenly, and smelled even better. By the time she added conditioner and began retwisting his locs, Erik was fully coherent once more, solemn as he sat and washed himself with a rag and a chunk of black soap Nakia had handed him.

It should have been humiliating being babied this way by someone he previously saw as an enemy, but he had no fight left in him. She hummed a song quietly as she worked, adding grease to dry spots she found on his scalp and making sure his hair was relatively presentable again. Erik was reminded of his own mother, showing him how to wash his body and care for his hair. 

 

_ “It's important for you to know this because you're not like many others,” she had said. “You're black, and we need different things for our hair and skin.” _

_ “So I won't be ashy or dry,” the child had repeated back. _

_ “And so you won't be musty,” his mother smiled. “Always take care of yourself, even if you neglect everything else.” _

 

“Are you alright?” Nakia asked. 

Erik started, not realizing he had fallen asleep against her thigh.

“Yeah, yeah I'm good. I just had a dream…” He trailed off.

“Oh? About what?”

Erik blinked a few times. The bath water hadn't turned cold, but she had finished doing his hair already. Was he still dreaming?

“This isn't real,” Erik declared. “Bath water shouldn't still be warm after all this time.”

Nakia chuckled above him. “It heats itself to keep the water warm, so you can lounge for however long you please.”

“Oh,” Erik's shoulders relaxed, letting him sink back into Nakia. “I dreamed about my mom.”

“And what did she do?”

“Told me to comb my hair and wash my ass because I was getting musty,” Erik snorted. 

Nakia almost sighed with relief. 

He was still there. She hadn't broken him completely.


	2. You Can (Not) Advance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nakia finds herself being tried at every turn

Once Erik was peacefully sleeping on Nakia’s couch, she darted off into her room and locked the door behind her. Touching her Kimoyo bead, she waited for T’Challa to answer. The grains of vibranium arranged themselves to show a projection of the king waiting in earnest.

“Do you have an update for me?”

“He’s beginning to act like his old self again, so his spirit still isn’t broken,” Nakia began. “But he’s much less temperamental. I’ll send him over to the palace after his nap.”

T’Challa laughed, and Nakia frowned. “What are you laughing at?”

“It just sounds as if you are dealing with a very difficult child. First you clean him, feed him, and then put him down for a nap? In addition to a wise queen, you will make a fantastic mother.”

“Don’t start that, T’Challa,” Nakia warned only half-serious. “I don’t think he’ll be much of a threat, but only time will tell.”

“I will not be allowing him to run rampant around the palace, Nakia.”

“Then put a Dora Milaje detail on him! I have work; I can’t watch him all day.”

“But is that not what you did in the first place?”

“ _T’Challa!_ ”

T’Challa laughed and held his hand up in surrender. “I am only kidding. Of course, I will work something out to suit our needs.” He beamed a proud smile at her. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Nakia smiled back. “Of course.”

The communication link dropped, and Nakia took a moment as she rested against the back of her door, smiling as her heart fluttered from her conversation with T’Challa. He was effortlessly charming and easy to love; she had her reservations about picking up their relationship again, but losing him had been a wake up call that she might not get another chance, that he might not always be waiting for her.

Nakia played with her bracelet absentmindedly, already plotting her next move when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. She listened for a minute, waiting as silence preceded her, then spun around and yanked open the door.

Erik stumbled forward past her, catching himself on the jamb as he straightened up. He looked around Nakia’s room in curiosity, until she came to stand in front of him with her arms folded across her chest.

“Why are you up?”

“I been asleep for hours, what you mean ‘why am I up?’” Erik responded, his face scrunching up in disbelief.

Nakia tilted her head, mouth dropping open. “You’ve only been asleep for thirty minutes.”

Erik frowned deeply and looked around for a clock to verify Nakia’s claims. His eyes fell on the window where the sun was beginning to set and finally began to process her words.

“My sleep schedule is all fucked up,” Erik wiped his face with his hands and sighed. “Alright, well I’m up again and I’m not sleepy.”

Nakia nodded. “Alright, well I’ll call for a jet to take you to the palace.”

Erik arched an eyebrow and shook his head. “Nah, you not dropping me off there just so I can be put back in a prison cell.” When Erik started to back away towards the door, Nakia’s heart leapt within her chest.

“You won’t be staying as a prisoner anymore!” She quickly reassured him. “We just don’t have another setup ready right now for you to stay.”

“You could just let me leave here altogether,” Erik suggested.

“Now you and I both know that isn’t possible,” Nakia said quietly. “Come, sit down and we’ll have some tea and talk.” To her surprise, Erik didn’t resist, but followed her out her bedroom to her living room and sat back on the couch, waiting patiently for her to bring back steaming cups of herbal tea.

Erik took a tentative sip and closed his eyes, savoring the earthy and floral notes that danced before his nose. He licked his lips and set the cup on the table in front of him. Across from him in an easy chair, Nakia was curled up, her feet tucked beneath her as she held her cup in her hands.

“What you wanna talk about?”

Nakia’s lips twitched in amusement. “You are so much more agreeable now. If only we had known we just needed to give you a warm bath to make you nicer.”

Erik snorted and sat back into the couch. “I’m only complying because I have no other options. I don’t want you to lock me up in that closet again.”

“I thought the space was generous.”

“Compared to super max, sure,” Erik laughed. “But that shit was hell.”

Nakia observed his change in demeanor in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t know how long I was in there for, but you had me close to my limit.”

“When I came to get you, you had a panic attack. I’d say you were at your limit.”

Erik shook his head and pursed his lips. “Nah, I still knew who you were. I ain’t forget shit, _war dog_ ,” Erik spit.

Nakia’s hand tightened around the mug.

“I would have preferred to go into a work camp for your little royal bodyguards than the shit you subjected me to.”

“You had to atone for your crimes,” Nakia replied. “You were a special case we weren’t prepared for.”

Erik leaned back against the couch and stretched, staring Nakia down with full animosity. “You ever been held captive? Tortured? Ever been forced to make impossible decisions that leave you questioning your morality? Yeah, you’re a spy, but I don’t think you really ever been in the shit.”

“I have nothing to prove to you,” Nakia said. “Whatever imagined sleight you have against me -”

“Oh my sleight against you is real as hell!” Erik snapped. “I know that containment cube wasn’t my cousin’s idea; he’s too soft to think up the shit you pulled! The Dora Milaje want me dead, so they wouldn’t have held me prisoner either! Your princess doesn’t have the constitution to torture a man to insanity!”

Nakia remained stoic.

“So I did a lot of thinking while I was in there, and I figured it out,” Erik sipped his tea. “Wow, this is really good. What’s in it?”

Nakia was on her feet and before Erik, dagger drawn from in between her seat cushion and the chair. She held it out at arms length, just underneath his chin. Erik grinned, holding his hands up as he sat back on the couch.

“Chill shawty, I wasn’t feeling froggy.”

“You had better learn to temper that tongue before it gets you in trouble,” Nakia warned. “I might be patient, but not everyone else is. T’Challa and I had to fight to save your life.”

Erik’s face contorted in disbelief. “Ain’t nobody told you to do all that.”

“Think before you speak,” Nakia said finally, sheathing the dagger again. She tried to controlled the trembling in her hands; she had just pulled a knife on him, and he hadn’t even moved to hurt her at all.

Erik watched her try to regain control, something clearly on the tip of his tongue but he held back. “Alright. So what do you want from me?”

“I wanted you to work off the rest of your sentence by aiding me on my missions,” Nakia answered. Her heart raced in her chest, her hands itching to be taking note of all of this. It didn’t make any sense, how he could be so vindictive one moment and compliant the next; was that a pre-existing personality trait or a result of solitary?

“You would make a great war dog,” Nakia explained. “I could use backup from someone with our skill sets and knowledge, who also shares the same views as me.”

“No offense, but I don’t think we share any views,” Erik scoffed.

“No?” Nakia grinned mischievously. “You don’t want to help black people around the world?”

Erik didn’t reply.

Nakia looked down at her bead as a notification sprang up. She stood, leaving her cup of tea on the table. “Come, let me take you to the palace. We will discuss more about this tomorrow.” When Erik didn’t immediately move, Nakia asked, “What is the matter?”

Erik looked up at her, fear glinting in his eyes. “You’re gonna take me there and I’m gonna be stuck in a room by myself again until you decide I can leave. How you think I feel about that?”

Nakia walked around the table and sat next to him on the couch, taking his hand between hers. “I promise I won’t be far away if you need me. I’ll stay at the palace tonight as well.”

Erik puffed his cheeks out a bit, dropping his head as he nodded hesitantly. Nakia pat his hand and tugged him to stand up.

“Come on, it’s already getting dark.”

 

The guest room Erik was put in was much larger than his cell, which at least gave him the illusion of freedom. He had access to a window, a proper bathroom, and telecommunications.

Not that he had anybody to talk to or contact; to some people, he was already dead.

And anyone else Erik would want to speak to already was.

Erik pulled off shirt and climbed into the bed, incredibly soft with thick pillows and duvets on top. The sheets and pillowcases were crafted from an amazingly delicate silk that rubbed against Erik’s neglected skin in a tantalizing manner. He hummed and slipped between the sheets and covers, rolling around in the fresh, fine linens and stretching his muscles. _God, I could bust on these sheets_ , Erik mused to himself as he rolled on his stomach and rocked his hips against the sheets.

He shivered and grunted softly, doing it again as his lower regions began to stir, body responding to the welcome and new stimulation. He kicked off his lounge pants and sighed at the feel of the cool material against his semi-erect dick. Erik clenched a pillow in his hands and slid it under the covers with him, folding it in half and slipping his meat in between. He chewed his bottom lip as he thrust into the pillow, the fibers creating a tingling sensation around his dick. He huffed, moving faster as he chased his first orgasm in who knew how long, muscles taut as he finally spilled onto the fabric of the pillow case.

Just then, the door opened, and Nakia’s face peered in just as Erik finished cumming. He sat up, chest heaving, sweat dotting his brow and shoved the pillow back under the covers.

“It’s just me!” Nakia explained, misreading the situation. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just thought I’d say goodnight.”

Erik ducked his head and tried to stifle a laugh. He shook his head and smiled up at Nakia.

“Thanks, but knock next time before you see some shit you wasn’t tryna see.”

A look of horror and disgust fell across Nakia’s face, and Erik tossed his head back in laughter as she excused herself and shut the door behind her. Once he was certain she was gone, he leaned back against the headboard and took himself in hand, ready for round two.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up, N’Jadaka,” the sound of a sharp voice startled Erik awake, and the thump of the sound of a spear hitting the floor echoed throughout the room. Erik shot up in bed, heart racing as he stumbled out and put his hands up, ready to fight. Instead, he just found Okoye staring at him with an unimpressed look on her face.

“Wash yourself and make yourself presentable,” she ordered, giving him a slow once over.

“How’s my boy W’Kabi doing?” Erik called as she turned her back to leave.

Okoye froze, turned on her heel, and smiled. “Ask about him again and you will be fed to my pets.”

“Rhinos are herbivores,” Erik smirked.

Okoye smiled petulantly. “So the American education system didn’t completely fail you.”

“They got grants and shit for kids like me,” Erik shrugged.

“W’Kabi’s pets are not my own. You do not want to see mine. Now make yourself presentable.” She left without another word, and Erik took the hint to begin getting ready. As he moved through the motions, he thought about the fastest way to get out of here. Clearly, it would be with Nakia and her plan - let her think he was on board, but the second they left Wakanda airspace he could shake her and be on his way to Mozambique ASAP where he had a connect.

Something in his gut turned at the thought, however, and Erik scowled at himself in the mirror.

 _Don’t get attached_.

“I’m not attached,” Erik said aloud to convince himself. His reflection in the mirror told a different story, running a hand along the back of his head where he was overdue for a haircut.

“I’m just building a cover,” Erik said to himself. “I’ll be gone in no time.”

 

It wasn’t often that Nakia stayed overnight in the palace, out of respect for tradition and the different roles she and T’Challa played. He was the king; she reported to him, and this would be seen as favoritism, or it would be if they hadn’t known each other for so long. T’Challa wasn’t one to abuse his power, and Nakia didn’t need to rely on her body to persuade him.

Still, the mornings she could wake up in his arms were deemed the best, and after such a long day the day before, she needed to fall asleep to him stroking her back as she fell asleep.

“Good morning, my king,” Nakia pressed a kiss to T’Challa’s cheekbone to wake him up, holding herself up over him. “Your kingdom awaits you.”

“Tell the people I need ten more minutes,” T’Challa mumbled, trying to roll over.

Nakia giggled and sat her full weight over his hips, rolling herself against him. T’Challa’s eyes sprang open, and Nakia laughed as she sat up and the covers fell to their hips.

“Where is your self control?”

“I haven’t jumped on top of you yet, I’d say I’m exhibiting my self control very well,” T’Challa murmured, eyes roaming up Nakia’s naked, supple body. “How much time do we have?”

“No sir,” Nakia lifted herself off and climbed out the bed. “You got plenty last night. I’d be mortified for Okoye to come in and see us.”

T’Challa complained quietly as he slipped out the bed and came to stand before Nakia, pulling her flush against his body. “I seem to recall it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“One time is too many,” Nakia laughed. She tried to pull away, but T’Challa held her still to kiss her good morning.

“When are you going to give up your apartment and stay with me here?” T’Challa asked quietly.

Nakia sighed and rested her head against his pec. “I told you, when my work is done and I’m ready to settle down.” She knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy him, but T’Challa didn’t argue back today, so she took it as a small win and continued getting ready.

“What do you have planned for N’Jadaka today?” T’Challa asked from the shower while Nakia brushed her teeth.

She spit in the sink and rinsed her mouth out. “I was thinking of just talking to him here in the palace. Find out where his mind is at and if I can manipulate him any further.”

“You’re so evil, Nakia.”

“I’m doing my _job_ , T’Challa.”

“Your job is not to break down men, although at this rate it seems to be all you do,” T’Challa teased.

“Are you speaking now? Are you well? Then I haven’t broken down you!” Nakia reached into the shower and pressed the cold water button before T’Challa could stop her. She walked out with a smile on her face as she listened to his very vocal complaints of cruelty.

 

In the courtyard, two Dora Milaje stood at attention on either side of Erik, sitting at a table with a simple plate of food in front of him. Nakia joined him and noticed he wasn’t eating anything.

“Not hungry?”

“I was waiting for you,” Erik said. He sat up and began taking bites of his food, and Nakia scribbled down a note for later review.

“So I thought today we could just talk and share some ideas. I have a mission coming up I’d like to begin at the earliest start that I could use your help with.” Nakia placed a tablet in front of Erik and flipped between files. “I’m looking for whoever is behind the girls going missing in D.C.”

Erik burped into his fist as he looked at the information before him. “Isn’t it a little soon to start expecting an alliance with me?”

Nakia cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to go back to the cell?”

Erik straightened up at once and shook his head. “I didn’t mean all that, I’m just saying. You haven’t exactly given me a reason to help you, except threatening me with solitary.”

“I told you that you still are a prisoner,” Nakia explained slowly. “You just have a say in the way you pay off your debt to Wakanda.”

“It’s _yall_ who owe me a debt -”

“And by giving you this option and sparing your life, we have paid it in full,” Nakia finished for him, trying to keep her smile even. “Now would you like to continue interrupting me or can I finish?”

Erik’s shoulders dropped, and he leaned against the arm of his chair as he stared at Nakia. “You pulled a knife on me yesterday because I had you shook, and now you wanna act big and bad. Which is it, Oochie Wally or One Mic?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re running out of patience with me,” Nakia said sweetly. Erik didn’t say anything in response to that, but nodded for her to continue.

“I figure we’ll be undercover, me as a working girl and you as a John. When we get in, I have a man I’m looking for, a regular who sometimes goes for underage girls. I need you to find any girls in that house who are underage and document them, get their names, then contact the authorities while I figure out who their connection is to the international trade.”

Erik stared at the tablet, too busy reading the files Nakia presented him to respond. They sat in silence for a few minutes as he took everything in and contemplated what was being asked of him.

“Are we killing the men in charge?”

“No, we just want to get the girls out. We’ll tip off the authorities, and a social worker -”

“These men don’t deserve to live,” Erik set the tablet down on the table. “You wanna bring me on, fine, I’ll help you play social justice warrior, but you telling me I can’t kill none of these sick fucks?”

“I don’t kill people just because they’ve done bad things,” Nakia pressed. “That’s not how things are done in Wakanda.”

“Yeah? I see how well that worked out for my old man,” Erik fired off. “So what _is_ your goal here? Save the girls, put them back in the system so they can just wind up on the streets again and back in another pimp’s house?”

“Return them to their families. They were kidnapped.”

“You _think_ they were kidnapped, but how many girls were just running away and landed there? Did you look _that_ up?”

“I did my research, now do yours,” Nakia stood from the table and motioned to the guards, who took Erik by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

“Wait, where you going? That’s it?”

Nakia pointed at the tablet. “All the information you need is there to brief for the mission. I have some other things to attend to.”

“Wait!” Erik struggled to get out their grasps, but they aimed their spears to either side of his neck, freezing him in place. He bared his teeth angrily, but remained where he was. “At least tell me you’ll come by before the day is over?”

Nakia hesitated in her step and turned around. Erik’s face looked _desperate_ , the idea of being alone and relegated to his room just as bad a threat of returning to the cell. Nakia remembered that this was still a man, even if he was a horrible person. He still had feelings, could still feel pain, pain _she’d_ caused.

“I will,” she said simply, and watched as he was marched away, tablet in hand. Nakia turned back around to find Okoye waiting, and nearly jumped out her skin.

“Okoye! Stop sneaking up on me like that!” Nakia put her hand over her chest and scowled at her friend.

“You’re soft on him,” was all Okoye said, her warning barely underlying the simple words: _Don’t get caught up._

“I need to make my travel arrangements,” Nakia excused herself. Okoye stopped her, placing her spear in front of Nakia to block her path.

“You need to listen to me. I will not lose you to him as well,” Okoye said. Nakia could see the pain in her eyes, W’Kabi’s absence still fresh to her.

“I am loyal to Wakanda, you know that. I love my country and my king; I will not be easily swayed by a repeat offender with a bad haircut.”

Okoye broke into a smile at that and pulled Nakia into a hug. “I trust you. It is him I do not trust.”

“But what could you do about it? What could any of us do? We are not so barbaric that we use a death penalty and exile is out of the que -” Nakia stopped herself before finishing, hurt flashing in Okoye’s eyes.

“I apologize.”

“It was his own fault,” was all Okoye said. “But do me a favor?”

Nakia nodded quickly.

“He was sent to where you are going for your next mission.” When Nakia tried to ask how she knew that, Okoye cut her off. “It is my business to know everything. You are not the only one with eyes and ears everywhere.”

Nakia could read between the lines. She made an affirmative sound, and Okoye continued.

“Pass along this message: the babies are growing up nicely. I will give you a blanket to deliver to him. He will meet you at Ronald Reagan and guide you from there.”

“But...why are you helping me?”

“You think the king would allow you to travel across the world alone with that criminal? Nakia, don’t be naive.” Okoye laughed.

“Tell T’Challa not to meddle in my affairs!” Nakia snapped. “I’ve been handling my own work without his help for this long, I do not need him interfering now!”

“You try his patience daily,” Okoye shook her head. “What’s done is done. He’s already arranged forged identification for N’Jadaka and it will be waiting for you in Shuri’s lab.”

Nakia walked away without another word; it was just like T’Challa to second guess her and go behind her back and do things without her permission. She’d speak to him soon, but first she had to pay Shuri a visit.

 

* * *

 

The hours ticked by slowly, Erik resigning himself to the desk in his guest room as he looked through the case documents. He had music playing in the background to fill the void of noise, but it continued to be present in the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling of something, some _one_ watching him presently, which was likely; the chances of him being left completely alone were zero to none. If the palace wasn’t rigged for surveillance before, it would be now.

Nakia hadn’t been completely up front with him about what they were doing in D.C., and why she was so adamant about not killing anyone. Erik didn’t know if she had purposely left out certain information or if it was a misdirect, but something seemed off, and he had more questions by the time he was finished reading.

But the more pressing question was _why_ he was still here after all this time. Why hadn’t he left already?

_Because I have nowhere to go._

It never stopped him before; Erik pursed his lips and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. There was another reason, but he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to think about or entertain the truth, even as it stared him in the face on the desk in front of him. Erik tapped his fingers on his bicep as he rocked a bit in the chair, bobbing along to the beat of the music.

“What kind of game are you playing here, Nakia,” Erik murmured to himself.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think you are doing?” Nakia demanded as she stormed into the throne room. The entire council looked up at her in shock, and Nakia remembered herself enough to stop and bow.

“If I may have a word with the king alone,” she requested. She averted her gaze from her elder, when the mining tribe elder spoke up instead.

“May the council remind Sister Nakia that regardless of her relation to the king, he is not available for petty needs.”

Nakia chewed the inside of her lip and glared at T’Challa, waiting for him to defend her. When he looked between her and the elders and hesitated, Nakia’s fist clenched at her side.

“I will hear her. Anything that is a need is not petty,” T’Challa said finally, and the mining elder scoffed, but followed the rest out the room, leaving Nakia and T’Challa alone.

“I trust it must be serious if you would interrupt a meeting,” he began, walking over to her from his throne.

Nakia’s patience finally broke. “Why did you go behind my back to make arrangements for me? All this time, I have been given my own agency to do what I please, and now -”

“And now you want to drag along a loose cannon who cannot be trusted,” T’Challa finished. “I’m still your king; I have a right to participate in your plans as much as I please.” His brow furrowed, and T’Challa added, “Why does it bother you that I want to know you are safe?”

“Because you didn’t care before! All my other stationed assignments, you did not care where I was or what I did, or how long I was gone for!”

“I did care! I allowed you space to do as you pleased, but now as we’re getting closer to marriage -”

Nakia held a finger up, silencing him with a look. “Do not. Don’t bring that up right now. We never agreed -”

“ _When?_ ” T’Challa begged, grabbing her by her shoulders. “How much longer are we to put off the inevitable?”

“Who said marriage was inevitable?” Nakia yelled. “You are the one always talking of marriage and trying to make me settle and I cannot!” Nakia’s eyes watered briefly for a moment, and her voice dropped in volume. “I cannot be the queen you want. I cannot sit by and rule for you while you run around the world with the Avengers or whoever, playing hero when all I want is to do the same thing!”

T’Challa’s jaw clenched at her words, the vein in his temple throbbing as he tried to maintain some composure. “Do you think I enjoy running around cleaning up other people’s messes?”

“I think you envy that I _do!_ ”

“Then you clearly know nothing!” T’Challa turned his back and stomped away towards the window, sucking his teeth as he went and Nakia followed him, refusing to back down.

“This is what ended us before,” she tried quietly. “I just want my freedom.”

“You want to be allowed to do whatever you want, to come and go as you please. I know this, and it is why I love you and find you so refreshing,” T’Challa sighed. He turned around to look Nakia in the face and closed his eyes when he saw the tears lingering in the corner of her eyes. “Nakia, please do not cry.”

“It’s not fair,” she said, the tears finally falling. “Why are we so perfect for each other if we cannot compromise?”

T’Challa hugged her, resting his chin on top of her head as she cried into his shirt. He sniffed, wiping away a tear or two that fell down his chin, and shushed her tiny sobs. “Nakia, you know that whenever you’re finished, I will be waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Nakia mumbled.

“No, _I’m_ sorry for always trying to make you fit into something you are not,” T’Challa whispered. He pulled her chin up to kiss her one last time, savoring the bitter saltiness on her plush lips before he parted. “Now go, and take my accommodations as a gift. I will not bother you anymore from here on out, until you ask me.” He wiped away Nakia’s tears with his thumbs and tried to smile encouragingly, even though it was killing him inside to let her go.

Nakia nodded, trying to match his smile, but she could hardly look him in the eyes without crying again, and turned to walk away, arms stiff at her sides. She finished wiping the rest of her face, and pushed through the heavy mahogany doors to finally get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me as I'm writing this fic: oh my god Nakia I'm so sorry you gotta deal with these ain't shit niggas you aint deserve any of this smh I promise it'll work out sis


	3. You Can (Not) Redo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of pedophilia and sex trafficking. Nothing graphic, but be warned.

The rest of Erik's meals had been brought to his room privately by a guard, the only interaction he faced while waiting for Nakia. So much time had passed that Erik had already begun getting ready for bed, chest tight with betrayal that she hadn't kept her word.

 _It's not like you deserve it,_ Erik's inner voice said. _Why would she care about you?_

Erik laid on top of his duvet in his pants and rubbed the scar on his face where T’Challa had cut him during the challenge. It was healing still, itching occasionally and prompting Erik to scratch or at least rub at it insistently until the skin around it was tender and starting to fade red beneath his brown skin. He didn't dare close his eyes; his heart was beginning to race in the silence and he knew the visions would just come back at this rate if he closed them for even a moment. His skin tingled all over, his breath grew short, and finally Erik saw a manifestation in the corner of his vision that he earnestly pretended wasn't there.

He knew it wasn't real. None of it was real. But that logic didn't seem to connect to the rest of his body as the physiological effects began to take over. He thought about strangling Nakia when she arrived, just for subjecting him to complete isolation for so long. As if it wasn't bad enough the nightmares Erik had about his father, now he experienced waking nightmares. Sometimes visions of the people he killed would flash before his eyes, their screams and pleads for mercy a cacophony of noise that drowned out his own thoughts as he obsessively reflected on his actions.

He shouldn't have killed _all_ of them, but that was all he knew: violence, death. At least he didn't torture them. Torture had never been his style, drawing pleasure from making someone miserable in their last moments. His life had been nothing but various forms of torture. No, he preferred to kill people and get it done and over with, business as usual. Killing wasn't like a video game to him, even if others saw it that way. For Erik, killing was a part of life, a problem solving tool more people could stand to utilize.

Like Nakia. _God, where is she?_

_She tricked me. I'm trapped again. Fucking bitch._

Erik growled and leapt from the bed to storm to the door and try to handle. It was locked, and Erik had to fight back the stinging tears as he realized his predicament.

Alone, again.

Erik kicked at the door, punched the heavy wood and yelled to no avail. No one answered, and no one was coming. He really would be stuck in an albeit nicer, but still solitary, confinement. He sucked in a shaky breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. _How could I be so stupid? To think, maybe I matter now._

He trudged to the opposite side of the room near the bathroom to sit on the lounge chair and draped a blanket over him. It was heavy and warm, a simple pleasure that grounded him in his feelings before he could completely derail. Erik absentmindedly ran a hand through his locs and twisted them around his fingers, tugging and rubbing the coarse tendrils. He recalled how Nakia had carefully taken the time to fix him, even after leaving him to rot.

Erik buried himself under the blanket and finally gave in, shutting his eyes.

 

_“You're an embarrassment to me as a son. You think this is what I wanted for you? To be dead? To wreak havoc on my home and murder your own family? You're no better than them.”_

_I'm sorry._

_“Sorry is not good enough, N’Jadaka. Fix it.”_

_How?_

_“You better figure it out or I will beat you.”_

_Yes sir._

 

“Erik?”

Erik’s eyes sprang open, his face wet, and stared up at Nakia looking down at him with concern. He tried to let go of the blankets, but found his muscles too tense and rigid to move at all. He opened his mouth to speak, licking his dry lips which did nothing to help.

“I thought...I…” Erik croaked, “you weren't...coming. I thought...you locked me up...again.”

Nakia's eyes watered to Erik’s amazement as she crouched to his level and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I'm so sorry, Erik. I’m here now, okay? You don't have to be afraid, I'm here.”

Erik blinked in confusion and finally pried his hands from their vice grip on the soft material. He sat up and swallowed to clear his throat before reaching his arms around her to hug her back.

It was strange. Erik didn't hug people. If he did, it was a precursor to sex, but there was nothing sexual about this, or the way Nakia was now bawling in his lap as he pulled her up into the chair with him. He pulled the blanket back around the both of them and waited.

He waited for the tears to stop.

He waited for her to realize their position.

He waited for his anger to return and shove her to the floor just to choke the life from her.

He waited for someone to interrupt this moment, this brutally raw emotional expression he had never anticipated could come from someone as well put together as Nakia.

He waited for the doubting voices, the hallucinations, something to tell him he was dreaming and none of this was real.

But Erik could feel her tears running rivulets between his keloids and scars, her breath against his skin. He felt the way she shook in his arms, and recognized when her breathing became too uneven.

Comfort was unfamiliar to Erik, and comforting others was the opposite of his mission statement. But had T’Challa not comforted him before dying, showing him one last act of compassion?

“Hey,” Erik said softly into Nakia's hair. “Hey just breathe. It'll be okay.”

_“I'm sorry, Erik.”_

_..._

_It'll be okay._

 

Erik gripped Nakia tighter and took deep breaths, inhaling the scents of argan oil and shea butter in Nakia's hair. He focused on this, the slow breaths to calm his racing heart from the myriad of mixed emotions he was feeling now, things he lacked words to describe. What had she said when she pulled him out of hell?

“In through your mouth and out through your nose,” Erik muttered. He continued taking the deep breaths until finally Nakia's evened out, her hands pressed against his chest. Hesitantly, as if reaching for a butterfly, Erik raised his hand to Nakia's head and stroked her hair. Her knots were down, but the twist out had been sweated out from some physical training she must have done earlier. Erik simply ran his hand over her head as they sat in silence, the mood too heavy for words.

He wanted to know what made her cry like this, because it couldn't have been guilt for leaving him alone. He cursed being locked away; if he had been out there –

_What could I do? I'm just a criminal._

Erik kept Nakia tight in his arms and stood up, scooping her legs and walking to the bed where he laid her on top of the duvet with the blanket over her. He waved his hand over a wall panel and pressed the button for the lights to turn off, drenching them in total darkness. As he climbed under the covers, Erik heard Nakia whisper a frail, “thank you.”

_“You could kill her. Her guard is down. She wouldn't even fight back. This is literally too easy.”_

_But then I'd be alone again._

_“Alone is better than in bed with the enemy.”_

_Death is better, but I don't have many options right now._

_“You have the option to kill her.”_

Erik tried to silence his inner voice, the killer that he still was, long enough to fall asleep, but found it difficult. He didn't want to kill Nakia; it wouldn't benefit him, but she deserved it.

And yet she slept so comfortably next to the man she knowingly was playing. _Bold. Stupid._ Erik didn't know what to make of it.

He just knew her time was up soon. These chance moments of pure emotion she showed him were like highlighting cracks in a wall, and she would be tumbling down soon.

 

The next morning, they didn't discuss it. Nakia didn't bring up finding Erik curled up in a blanket crying in his sleep and he didn't ask what made her break down like that.

 

* * *

 

“Aye moe!”

“That's W’Kabi, Erik.”

“You need to learn the language of the locals, little girl,” Erik sneered. His gold caps were back in his mouth, and the way his teeth glinted in the light reminded Nakia of a very cheap disco ball.

“You look good,” she said to W’Kabi to ignore Erik. “Okoye sent gifts for you and told me to tell you the babies are growing up nicely.”

W’Kabi had always had a hard exterior that seemed cold and difficult to crack, much like Okoye. His strong stare and resolute composure could compete with a wall. And yet, at word of Okoye his shell melted away and he took the blanket eagerly. He raised it to his face and inhaled deeply, relishing in the scents of home.

“Thank you, Nakia.” He hugged her and welcomed the two inside his apartment. For exile, he was living rather comfortably, Nakia noted. She and Erik followed him as he pointed out a few basis: kitchen, bathroom, wifi password on the TV. They came to a stop in front of a door, and W’Kabi looked between the both of them. If not for Nakia's familiarity with him, she would have thought he was just building suspense.

“I did not know you would be bringing him along,” W’Kabi began. “I only prepared my guest room with one bed.”

“Oh that won't be a problem,” Erik said quickly. He pushed past the both of them and shoved through the door to inspect the room for himself. Nakia made an offended noise and stalked in after him, dropping her bag by the dresser.

Erik hopped on the bed, a full-sized mattress, and grinned at the two watching him with unimpressed faces.

“Slumber party?”

“Take your shoes off,” Nakia grumbled. She had already removed her own when they walked in the door, but Erik was either being intentionally dense or outright disrespectful. Either way, she was over it, and grabbed Erik by the boot.

W’Kabi watched them for a minute, observing the strange air between them. He slipped his hand in between the folds of the blanket and touched the Kimoyo beads hidden there. He would call Okoye the first chance he got, but so far there was nothing to report. It wasn't suspicious for Nakia to be bickering with Erik; he expected them to not get along.

What didn't make sense was how Erik was _teasing_ Nakia, or the way she put up with it. Nakia fussed, but her threats were hollow. There was a tinge of fondness in her voice, and none of the malice in Erik's eyes.

“If this works for you both, then fine. There's a key on the night stand and towels in the drawers.” W’Kabi slipped out the room and shut the door behind him, wondering just what T’Challa was thinking allowing this to happen.

 

* * *

 

They set up in W’Kabi’s living room a temporary base of operations that allowed them to research and communicate with Nakia's leads. On a disposable smartphone, she had Backpage open to post ads for her “services,” a connection with the local police her only way of keeping vice cops from stinging her. She was waiting for her lead to bite, hoping he would be drawn in by the photos she posted, editing them to look younger than she actually was. Nakia had taken a few pictures in the bathroom mirror wearing different lingerie sets, and when Erik had seen them, his face scrunched up in disgust.

“You look like a child,” he said. “Like, you already look really young. How old are you, by the way?”

“I am thirty years old, Erik, and we're searching for pedophiles. I can't exactly post how I look normally and expect them to bite.” Nakia pushed her fresh braids back from her face and looked up at Erik from where she sat on the couch.

Her big, bright eyes and round cheeks almost had him fooled; how she managed to look so good –

Erik stopped his train of thought and looked away. They'd been sharing a bed for weeks without incident, and now he was thinking about her sexually. Aside from being with T’Challa, it just wouldn't work out. It never did for people he slept with, and despite the simmering hatred in his heart, he didn't want her to die, at least not yet. He had so much to say to her still.

“You look nineteen at best,” Erik conceded. “That's not exactly illegal.”

“But it's young enough to get my foot in the door,” Nakia answered, distracted by what she was reading.

“And I'm just supposed to ask for a little girl?”

“You've killed people.”

“It's not the same. At least I was putting people out of their misery instead of contributing to it.” That made Nakia look up from her tablet and stare at Erik.

“You think they wanted to die?”

Erik snorted. “Oh nah, they just didn't have very good options. Be kept alive and tortured or killed with a clean shot.”

“You're such a merciful god,” Nakia said sarcastically. “I can see why you were such a great asset to the US government.” When he started to protest, Nakia silenced him with a glare, and Erik sat back against the couch and sighed.

“There’s a difference between killing people and...this,” Erik grumbled. “I’m not comfortable with this.” _I’m not comfortable with you putting your body on display for these men_ , was what he wanted to say, but he had no right. He couldn’t tell Nakia what to do, not out of moral obligation, but because he knew she wouldn’t listen anyways. If Nakia wanted to post ass shots on the internet, that was _her_ work related business; Erik was just along for the ride.

“You will see,” Nakia reassured him. “It’s not so hard.”

“You ever sleep with people when you’re doing these missions?” Erik asked bluntly. The question threw Nakia off enough that she tore her eyes from the screen to look at him wildly.

“Where is this coming from?”

Erik shrugged. “Just wondering how _deep_ your cover goes.”

Nakia narrowed her eyes. “If you’re suggesting that I’ve ever been unfaithful to T’Challa, the answer is no.”

Erik didn’t look like her believed her, but he wasn’t about to fight with her on a mission either. He knew how to pick his battles, and this was one not worth the trouble. He left the couch to get dressed, and once he had closed the bedroom door, W’Kabi appeared from nowhere to fill his spot on the couch.

“Do you need anything from me before you go?”

Nakia shook her head, rubbing her temples. “Mercy kill me?”

W’Kabi snickered at that. “Who told you to rehabilitate a war criminal anyways?”

“I thought you would be happy to see him alive,” Nakia joked. “Or is he a reminder?”

“He’s a pest,” W’Kabi grunted. “And he’s clearly interested.”

Nakia slowly set her tablet down on her lap, turning to face W’Kabi. That same, evenly measured expression graced his face as always, the subtle up turn at the corners of his lips the only indicator that something was up. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

W’Kabi smiled. “Nakia, don’t play dumb. You know as well as I do what I’m referring to.” His smile dropped suddenly as he leaned in close. “Do not let him charm you into the same mistakes as me.”

Nakia’s hands clenched to stop from trembling and she bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

He searched her face for understanding, but Nakia hardened hers the way she was trained to shut him down. They were left staring at each other in silence, waiting for the other to crack, when Erik reappeared dressed in a tight black v-neck and some jeans. He held a jacket and black leather gloves in his hand and looked between W’Kabi and Nakia, trying to process what was going on.

“You good?” He asked, his voice taking a sharp upturn in pitch on the last word. He cocked an eyebrow and stared at Nakia, waiting for an explanation, but she shook her head and finally broke the hold.

“Let me go get dressed. He just text me to meet at a certain house.” Nakia gave W’Kabi one final warning glance as she left, brushing past Erik standing at the entrance to the hall. He looked behind him as she walked by, then turned back around to W’Kabi.

“Y’all fighting?” He mouthed quietly, and W’Kabi shook his head.

“A difference in opinion. Enjoy the night.”

 

* * *

 

Try as Erik might, he couldn’t take his eyes off Nakia as they ubered to the meeting location in Seat Pleasant. Her smooth, long legs reflected the light of passing street lights in the dark car. She glowed from the shimmery body oil she’d covered herself in, her tight booty shorts leaving little to the imagination. Her top was a small, golden, metal bralette that matched the golden hoop earrings she wore and her necklace, a disguised tracking device in case she was taken.

But Erik had no plans to let her out his sight, however. He was thankful for his black jeans that hid the semi-erection forming already just by looking at her. Nakia’s perfume filled the car, a soft rosy scent that traveled to Erik’s nose and had him unconsciously leaning forward for more. He bit his lip and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He finally dragged his eyes away from her to stare out his window and could have sworn he heard Nakia chuckle.

The house was relatively nondescript as it sat on its block lined up with similar houses, cars lining the block being the only hint that people were present. Nakia held her head high as she strutted up to the front of the gate of the yard where two men stood in wait, Erik close to her side as they approached. One of the men shined a flashlight at them, illuminating their faces in the darkness and blinding them from being able to see the mens’ faces properly.

“Who you here to see?”

“Javarius,” Nakia answered sweetly, and the light shut off as they were beckoned forward. Erik stared down the other man, holding a rifle at his side and squared his shoulders.

“No guests, only you,” the man with the light said, staring at Erik’s formidable posture.

“He’s my man, he goes everywhere with me,” Nakia explained. “Or I can just go and y’all can explain what happened.”

The men looked between each other for a moment, then behind them at the house as two men walked out. They turned back around to Erik and Nakia and the first one said, “Lift your shirt up, lemme see you ain’t hiding shit.”

Erik rolled his eyes, but acquiesced to the orders, revealing his large muscles and multitude of scars. He walked in a circle to show nothing was tucked in his waistband anywhere, only showing even more scars. The second man hissed in empathetic pain, and the first man nodded for him to drop his shirt.

“Respect,” the man with the gun said quietly.

“You look like the bottom of a pothole,” the first man said.

Erik rolled his neck and sucked his teeth. “You joanin? Bro, you look like the spook who sat by the door like shit.”

The man with the gun turned his head to hide his laughter, and the man with the light muttered something under his breath that had Erik’s neck tense as they continued to walk past. When they left, he’d make sure to deal with him.

“Chill,” Nakia whispered. She put a hand on his arm to calm him, and smiled when she felt his muscles relax. “Let’s stay focused, okay?”

Erik nodded and ducked his head down to whisper in her ear, “I’m still going to kill him.”

Nakia’s face was one of horror, and she backed him into an empty sitting room where incense burned and music played quietly. “You kill _anyone_ and I’ll kill you,” she said bluntly. “Now focus, and go find those girls.” She turned to walk away, and Erik licked his lips as she went, hoping her threat was a promise.

There were a few rooms with shut doors, but Nakia followed her instructions sent to her: _Come to the second on the left._ She paused a moment before entering, slipping into her carefully created facade and turning the door.

A large black man in a lavender dress shirt sat on the bed facing the door. He looked up from his phone and smiled a gap toothed grin at Nakia as she entered. “Bola?”

“Hey!” Nakia drawled. “I heard you had a job opportunity for me.”

Javarius nodded and reached out to take Nakia’s hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and pulled her into his lap. “Of course, but first let’s enjoy ourselves before we discuss business.”

“The money?” Nakia asked.

The man pointed to a parcel on the dresser, and Nakia walked over to inspect the package. A stack of bills that totaled a thousand dollars sat in pristine condition, and she held a bill up in the light to check for watermarks. Satisfied, she set it back on the dresser and turned around. “Thank you, but I’m still really curious about what it is you do,” she strolled over to the bed and climbed up, positioning herself behind him as she rubbed his shoulders.

“You could be a model for me and travel the world,” he started. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and Nakia ran her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest. He hummed and leaned back into her. “You and the other girls who work for me. You’d have friends your age, so you wouldn’t feel lonely.”

Nakia tossed her braids over her shoulder and brushed her lips across his ear. “Are you gonna make me a star?” Her voice was low, suggestive, and her hands worked to relax Javarius more until his eyes closed and he didn’t notice the tiny recording and tracking device she slipped into his shirt pocket.

 

The house was full of soft sounds, but Erik was bored as he sat on the easy chair and watched men come and go. When his mic picked up in his ear, he sat up and started listening to the conversation. That was his cue to start looking for girls, that confirmation that they did exist here. He waited for another man to walk down the hall and out the door, then slipped into the hall and looked for an open door. He found it at the end of the hall on the right, and walked past the shut doors hiding the sounds and scenes of more than illicit activity. Erik stooped to take his gun out from his leg holster and switched the safety off. He crept around the door jamb to look in the room and furrowed his brow at what he saw.

The girl couldn’t have been any older than seventeen. There was no way. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, her hair in a messy ponytail and wearing only a large t-shirt. Erik’s jaw clenched, and then his mind betrayed him.

_She isn’t wearing any pants._

_“Something bad happened to her. Go outside.”_

_Did she wet herself?_

_“Go.”_

Erik lowered his gun and pushed the door open. The girl looked up in fright, and then her resolve seemed to rush over her. “You next?”

“Where are the other girls?”

“Man move with that shit,” she spat. “Obviously they busy.”

Erik’s patience was waning. He wasn’t cut out for this. Nakia lied about thinking he was a good fit for this.

“Do you want to go home or nah? I’m _trying_ to save you.”

The girl’s touch exterior rumpled for a moment, her eyes glistening before she caught herself. “Niggas always say that, but they just move us somewhere else.”

Erik beamed and pushed the door open. “I’m not like them, and if you tell me how many other girls are here, I’ll get you all out.”

“Yeah? You and what army?”

“My home girl in the other room right now hitting a lick. We not bout to be here much longer.”

The girl leapt from the bed and ran to the door. She grabbed Erik’s hand and quickly lead him by the doors, pointing at two across from each other and nodding. “There’s a back door they don’t watch, but there’s a dog out there.” Erik could tell she was scared about the dog, so he didn’t tell her to just suck it up and run away. Instead, he tried to think of what Nakia would say or do in this situation, and grimaced at what he was about to say.

“Okay, I know you’re scared right now, so just wait in your room and I’ll send the other girls to you. When it’s safe, we’ll come get yall, okay? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Aleecea.”

“Okay, you’ve been brave to make it this far, Aleecea, so I just need you to be strong just a little bit -”

The girl wrapped her arms around Erik’s torso, burying her face in his chest. His heart leapt into his throat, his interest in the mission suddenly doubled. She looked up at him and sniffled, wiping her eyes before she turned to run back and await his orders.

Erik’s throat tightened, his forehead hot with anger. He clenched his jaw, and kicked open the first door on the right. He wasted no time popping two shots of the dampened gun into the back of a man lying on top of a smaller body, snarling in disgust when he lifted the John off of her and pushed him to the floor. He avoided looking at the girl, but said, “Get some clothes on and go to Aleecea’s room.”

The girl scurried, wasting no time asking questions as she followed Erik’s directions. When he was certain she’d left, Erik shot another bullet in the back of the man’s head.

So much for Nakia’s threats.

Erik turned and continued on his new mission.

 

The door slammed open and before Nakia could react, the man underneath her convulsed from the two bullets that went into his chest. She gasped, jumping up from his lap as he slid out his chair and onto the floor. She stumbled backwards, bracing herself on the dresser and looked to the door.

Erik's weapon was drawn, although he held it down in front of him now, a dark look falling across his face.

"What are you doing?" Nakia hissed frantically. "You're going to blow our cover!"

Erik locked the door behind him and strolled over to the man bleeding out on the floor.  
  
"Nah, I'm just taking out the garbage," Erik said quietly. He pointed the muzzle directly at the man's temple, until Nakia grabbed his wrist and yanked the gun out his hand.  
  
"This isn't what I do, Erik!" Nakia scolded.  
  
"Yeah? And does your king know what you do on these missions?" Erik half-shouted. "He know you giving up ass for intel?"  
  
"What I do on a mission is none of his business!" Nakia yelled back.  
  
Erik shook his head and laughed, pushing the butt of his palms into his eyes. "Wow," he muttered. "You really know how to pick 'em, bro." Erik dropped his hands and glared at Nakia. "What you do when you go on these little spy missions to save the world is T'Challa's business. It's Wakanda's business, ain't it? You love him so much but you ain't telling him how you tossing neck to find out who snatching up all these missing girls!"  
  
"T'Challa's concern is not my priority," Nakia said resolutely.  
  
Erik regarded her with an analytical eye, sizing up not only her but the situation. Finally, he began to piece things together: the crying, the snappy attitude, not calling Erik out for more of his inappropriate jokes. After a few seconds, he nodded quietly.  
  
"Oh, I see. So you break up with him and then go on these trips, got it. You ain't a spy, you a bird."  
  
Nakia made a deep sound of disgust and rolled her eyes. "I am not a bird!"  
  
Erik pushed up into her personal space, backing her up against the wall. "I don't know," he began. "If it bounces like a bird, sings like a bird," he looked her body up and down, taking in the small pieces of fabric she wore, "and flaps its wings like a bird -"  
  
"Finish that sentence and you'll be joining him on the floor," Nakia growled. She challenged Erik, pushing back into his personal space and refusing to look away as his eyes bore into hers.  
  
"That nigga not built like me," Erik said quietly. "I handled your ass last time, or do you need a reminder?"  
  
The tension snapped, like a crack of lightning the charged atmosphere intensified immensely as Nakia grabbed Erik's face and smashed their lips together. At once, he dropped his gun and grabbed handfuls of her ass, pressing his crotch up against hers, his pants and her tiny shorts keeping them separated.  
  
Erik kissed with a hungry vigor, as if trying to consume Nakia from the inside out. He growled deep in his chest as her hands dug into his hair, soft lips sucking his lower lip between them. She smelled like the cocoa butter she wore on her skin, raw and heavy. Erik pulled back to suck on her neck, inhaling more of the scent and groaned, nibbling sharply at her collarbone as she whimpered and writhed in his grip.  
  
"I knew it," Erik teased, sliding a hand up Nakia's taut stomach to her breasts. He pulled one of the tiny triangles covering her to the side and rubbed the newly exposed nipple between his fingers. Nakia's sweet voice only pitched higher as Erik dropped his head to suckle on her tiddy, his hands free to move lower to her panties. He slid them down her legs, and Nakia quickly stepped out of them, leaving her legs ajar for Erik to run a hand between them. He dropped to his knees and lazily dragged his fingers between her labia, grinning up at her as she shook under his touch.  
  
"If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask, baby girl," Erik mumbled, putting her legs over his shoulders and holding her up with his hands.  
  
Nakia gasped as he braced her against the wall, his face so close to her pussy she could feel his hot breath against her pubis. She dug her hands into his scalp and rolled her hips forward, just as Erik held out his tongue to brush against her clit.  
  
Nakia moaned, repeating the movement, and Erik took it, licking and sucking what he could as she rode his face. He pushed her higher up to get a better angle and slipped his tongue inside, causing Nakia to whimper and rut against his mouth. Erik snarled in arousal as his pants grew tighter, wanting desperately to at least pull himself out but Nakia was insistent, controlling his every move with her hands as she chased his orgasm.  
  
Finally, Nakia cried out as Erik sucked on her clit, holding his tongue against the sensitive and worn nub while moisture flooded his face. Erik tried to lick it all up, but by the time he pulled his face away from between her legs, he knew there was cum in his beard. Gently, he lowered Nakia's legs off his shoulders and stood over her, breathing heavy as he watched her come down from her high. Her clear skin was glistening with perspiration, lips dry from panting and moaning.  
  
And then Nakia leaned up to lick her cum from Erik's beard.  
  
A full body shiver overtook Erik at the action, and his hands fumbled with the front of his pants as Nakia cleaned his face with her tongue. By the time she was kissing him, sucking her flavor off his tongue, he had his dick in hand and was stroking himself roughly, inhaling sharply when he came against her thigh. Nakia took his face in her hands and shushed him as he grunted his orgasm, bucking against her with eyes pressed shut as he desperately tried to catch his breath. 

All he could smell was cocoa butter and sweat while his face was buried in her neck, her hands scratching at the back of his hairline.  
  
"Do you feel better?" She whispered.  
  
Erik wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tight to his body.  
  
"I should be asking you that," he joked.  
  
"But I'm asking about you," Nakia asked quietly.  
  
Erik stood up straight and looked down at her lips, then her eyes. She had never looked so vulnerable before now.  
  
"I feel fantastic," Erik answered, leaning down to kiss the rest of his response into her mouth. “But right now we need to go. There’s a dog out back and three girls waiting for me across the hall.”

Nakia’s brows shot nearly into her hairline, but she pulled herself together quickly and fished the device from Javarius’ pocket, leaving the money on the dresser. Erik unlocked the door and slipped quickly across the hall, Nakia in tow to find the girls sitting on the bed dressed in dirty jeans and shoes, holding small bags that he assumed were full of what few belongings they owned. They stared at Erik and Nakia in awe, and when Nakia saw the pride on Erik’s face, she knew this had been exactly what he needed.

 

* * *

 

W’Kabi heard them enter late that evening, almost morning. He had stayed up as a backup plan for extraction, in case things had not worked out. The tracking device on Nakia's necklace was not just for Erik's benefit, but his own. It wasn’t by Nakia’s design, but T’Challa’s. He was to report to Okoye if he ended up needing to intervene, but when Erik and Nakia entered talking animatedly about something, W’Kabi draped his blanket over himself and initiated its cloaking device. He slid through a crack in his door and posted himself just in front of his room as he watched Erik and Nakia, listening to their conversation and watched the way he pulled her close to him, pressing himself against her. Nakia didn’t resist, only giggling and grinding back on Erik as they made their way to their room. When the door shut, W’Kabi moved to stand in front and placed a receiving amplifier on the door to pick up the rest of whatever they were talking about.

W’Kabi frowned. Okoye was not going to be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: formatting, chapter title


	4. 3.0+1.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well anyone will do tonight  
> Well anyone will do tonight  
> Close your eyes, just settle, settle  
> Close your eyes, just settle, settle
> 
> Well I got a bad feeling about this  
> I got a bad feeling about this  
> I'm coming over but it never was enough  
> I thought of you and my worst brings out the best in you
> 
> \- "A Decade Under the Influence" by Taking Back Sunday

The ride back to Wakanda is taken in silence, save for the sound of Erik’s headphones turned up too loud. Okoye’s demeanor had been completely stoic and professional, even at the sight of W’Kabi. When Nakia moved for a hug, she’d stepped back and simply ordered her on the plane. While they rode along in silence, she was left with her thoughts as she tried to reflect over the course of the past few months. A notification appeared on her tablet screen, but she dismissed it quickly without a second thought, hoping to remember to come back to that later.

Had they done something wrong? Sure, Erik had killed some men, but that was necessary at the time. It wasn’t unusual for there to be casualties, and yet they were being treated like prisoners being extradited. Nakia knew better than to attempt to engage Okoye in conversation when she was too angry to speak; it only led to hurt feelings, and Nakia was already sensitive from her harsh treatment.

Erik didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he seemed very comfortable and complacent about the whole thing, even going as far as to lay his arm across Nakia’s shoulders. She tried to shrug him off, but Erik had just made a face and replaced his arm, pulling her closer to him.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Erik winced and withdrew his arm. “The fuck? I can’t touch you now?”

Nakia stared pointedly at the back of Okoye’s head, and Erik just rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Nakia didn’t have time for his attitude; she was still adding the finishing touches to her report to show T’Challa for debriefing. It wasn’t as if she was hiding their new...relationship, per se, but she knew Okoye wouldn’t approve, and she already seemed testy as it was.

What she didn’t know, was what awaited them when they landed.

T’Challa stood at the dock, head tall and expression as neutral as always, but when Nakia smiled at him, instead of melting into the familiar love struck puppy he was, he simply nodded and began walking to the doors of the palace. Nakia looked behind her to see the Dora Milaje marching Erik off to his room. They exchanged a look, and Nakia hoped he understood she would be by to see him.

Nakia ran after T’Challa, surprised he didn’t wait for her, much less greet her verbally. Why was everyone being so...frigid? They passed through the sliding door, by guards, until they arrived to the deliberation room where the king and generals usually held talks.

But Okoye had left with Erik. There was no one present besides her and T’Challa.

“T’Challa?” Nakia asked quietly. His back was still turned to her as he looked over the reports. “Did something happen while I was away?”

“I don’t know, did it?” T’Challa spun on his heel and threw down the tablet on the table. Instead of her documents on his tablet, there was a video of her and Erik returning to their room after the mission. When the video dropped, audio picked up, and Nakia’s stomach dropped as she recognized the familiar sounds.

 

_“I wanna hear you say you want it.”_

_“You’re so lewd!”_

_“You licked your cum off my face, girl, don’t get shy now.”_

 

“I’ve heard enough!” Nakia yelled, covering her face in humiliation.

“How do you think _I_ feel?” T’Challa fired back. “I was right to be suspicious of him, of _you!_ ”

“I can’t believe you set W’Kabi up to _spy_ on me! Do you really think so lowly of me, that you need to sneak around and to watch my every move?”

T’Challa sputtered, stumbling over his words as he fought to control his anger. His patience had come to an end. “I didn’t trust him, and I was worried for your safety!”

“Bullshit, T’Challa! You were _jealous!_ ”

“Fine!” T’Challa yelled back. “I was jealous because you were ready to spend so much time with the man who tried to kill me, and for what? Was that part of his rehabilitation too? Do you go spreading your legs for any poor, weak man who falls for your smile?”

Nakia’s hand moved before she could stop herself, but T’Challa grabbed her wrist and pushed her away. “Hitting me won’t rid the stench of that killer on you, Nakia. A hundred showers could not rinse away the _shame_ you carry!”

Her eyes watered, T’Challa’s words finally getting to her. They’d had fights before. She’d heard worse things said about her. But to hear them coming from T’Challa was different. He was supposed to be the one who saw the good in her, no matter what. He was supposed to understand.

And yet.

“So W’Kabi still does work for you after all,” Nakia said quietly, the anger replaced by remorse. “I should have known it was a set up.”

“W’Kabi didn’t tell me. Okoye did.”

Nakia’s heart snapped in two, and her chest felt unbearably tight. The shortness of words, the avoided eye contact, how quick she had been to get Erik away from her -

“What did she do with him?” Nakia grabbed T’Challa by the lapels, but again, he only pushed her back. Nakia came at him again, and T’Challa was forced to hold her wrists in his hands, gripping her until it almost became painful.

“Even now you worry so much about whether he lives or dies, when not even four months ago you were boasting about using and manipulating him! But when I say that I love you, that I want to marry you -” T’Challa’s voice choked on the last words, and even as the tears flowed freely down his face, he continued, “you run away. You push me away. You accuse me of being selfish, when I would give anything for you to stay!”

“No one told you to do that,” Nakia said curtly, finally twisting out of T’Challa’s grip. She scowled at him, wiping her face of her tears that now had turned cold.

With pity in his eyes, T’Challa watched her with sad disbelief. “He already has ruined you. I hope you find the happiness you seek with a man who cannot bring himself to even be thankful that he is alive.”

Nakia dragged her hands down her face and took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. It was like watching an actor fall into character, how calm she looked when she finally dropped her hands.

“Okay. Goodbye, T’Challa.” She turned on her heel, walking quickly before he could change his mind and start with the apologies, because she just couldn’t do it. That entire fight had been the _worst_ they’d ever had, and now it seemed final: T’Challa had given up on her.

She tried to tell herself it was just their emotions running hot, that of course he felt betrayed, even if she hadn’t cheated on him. But it wasn’t like she had taken the mission specifically to hook up with Erik; that hadn’t been her intention, nor a possibility at the time. Somewhere along the way, things had changed, and not just their relationship to one another but themselves. Nakia looked at her hands, the same that had previously tried to hit T’Challa for his disrespectful and hurtful words. She blinked in confusion at her actions; that wasn’t like her.

_He’s already ruined you._

Nakia made her way quickly to Erik’s guest room to see him, and became alarmed when she saw the Dora Milaje marching him _away_ from his room. Panicked, she called out for them to stop and broke out into a run to catch up.

Okoye whipped her head around, her eyes burning with words unsaid, and banged her spear on the floor. At once, the guard detail stopped, and they blocked Erik with their spears as Nakia ran up.

“Where are you taking him?” Nakia asked as she caught up. Okoye stepped away from the others to meet Nakia before she could get any closer.

“He’s being moved off site to other accommodations. It isn’t necessary for him to stay in the palace any longer since he seems to have become,” Okoye looked Nakia up and down and snarled, “well adjusted.”

Nakia’s entire body felt hot and her heart was racing. Was she really doing this with Okoye too? Did she have _anyone_ left on her side? “Tell me where -”

“If you cannot keep your loyalties straight, then you are _not_ a citizen of Wakanda, and I don’t have to tell you, _anything_ ,” Okoye threatened. She got closer to Nakia, and Nakia knew better than to push her luck with Okoye; T’Challa might have had reservations about hurting Nakia, but Okoye was ready to risk it all.

“You know, if you love T’Challa so much, why don’t _you_ marry him, instead of that traitorous, beady eyed creature who currently sits in exile!” Nakia snapped.

Okoye’s hand tightened around her spear, the low blow seeming to have gotten past her thick skin. “My loyalty doesn’t lie between my legs,” she said finally. “It is not a thing that I just give out either. You could learn something about keeping your legs and your heart _closed._ ”

“I hope you kept this energy for W’Kabi,” Nakia said quietly, “because attacking me for something I didn’t intend -”

“What I said to W’Kabi is irrelevant here, as it is _you_ who continues to hurt the king,” Okoye stepped closer and drew her shoulders up, making herself seem bigger than she already was. “And my job is to protect the king from harm.”

Nakia understood the message loud and clear: she wasn’t winning this fight, and she couldn’t take Okoye in hand to hand combat, not that she would stoop so low. “Please, just tell me where you’re taking him.”

Okoye sniffed indignantly. “You’re a spy. Figure it out.” With that, she turned and led the others away, Erik looking over his shoulder to shoot her a reassuring smile. Nakia watched them go, confused by the action until she noticed the gold chain hanging around his neck.

She pulled her tablet from her bag and opened the program responsible for tracking the pendant she wore on the mission. Sure enough, a small blip moved across the screen steadily, and Nakia sent a small prayer of thanks up to Bast for small miracles.

 

* * *

 

"N'Jadaka requests an audience with you, your highness," Okoye announced. T'Challa bit his tongue; he'd anticipated this since Okoye confessed to him W’Kabi’s observations. The last thing he wanted to do was entertain his notoriously antagonistic cousin over her, but he still had to be the bigger man, even while nursing his wounded ego. It had been two weeks since their return, but it hadn’t been enough time to remove himself from his feelings about the entire thing. Sure, they weren’t together. Nakia hadn’t cheated. What they did when they were alone was fair game, but T’Challa - if naievely - had expected Nakia not to sleep with anyone but him. Had she slept with men on missions to get information or for an undercover assignment? Possibly. It didn’t bother him, those anonymous men who she more than likely wound up killing anyways, but _Erik_ …

Erik had tried to kill him, had tried to kill _her_ . How could she forget so easily? Had he really changed that much in the past year? There was only one way to find out.  
  
"Send him," T'Challa said curtly, refusing to look away from the window. He could practically hear Okoye sighing, even in silence, and knew he'd be getting lectured later.  
  
What was it about the women in his life never missing an opportunity to humble him?  
  
The door opened and shut again, Erik's footsteps barely audible in the large throne room. When no further sound came, T'Challa turned around to see Erik standing at ease, shoulders dropped lackadaisically. He looked completely unbothered.  
  
"If you are here seeking a fight, know that I will not fight you over Nakia. She's her own person, not a prize to be won," T'Challa declared as evenly as possible.  
  
Erik shrugged. "I'm not here to fight with you. I just wanted to come to you, man to man –"  
  
"So you could rub it in my face? You couldn't take the throne so you took the one person who means the most to me?" T'Challa snapped.  
  
Erik opened his mouth to say something, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, but he held his tongue. "See, she really changed me because I had a smart ass response to that but I'm learning I don't have to say everything that comes to mind."  
  
The kind narrowed his eyes and laughed bitterly, barely restraining the last of his control. "So Nakia really changed you after all."  
  
"She can change anything she cares about," Erik said, tilting his head back and licking his lips. "How much have you changed as long as you've known her?"  
  
T'Challa was across the room in an instant, Erik's throat in his palm before he could stop himself. Erik laughed a choked laugh as he allowed T'Challa to dangle him in the air. "This that shit I'm talking about. At least you didn't kill me like your daddy, so I guess you did change after all."  
  
T'Challa dropped Erik and swore, ordering Okoye to remove him before he really lost his temper. Alone, he sat upon his throne and buried his face in his hands as he let out a pained sob. He was frustrated, _tired_ of playing these games with Nakia, but he couldn’t bring himself to move on.

More than once, his mother had suggested other women who could take the throne with him, even going as far as putting Okoye up and nullifying her marriage, but he refused to hear her out. It was Nakia he wanted, Nakia he _needed._ The only problem was, she didn’t seem to need him nearly as much as he needed her.

Okoye’s footsteps echoed through the room, making her presence more than clear as she came to rest on the arm of the throne and rub his back. T’Challa was almost shocked out of his tears by her bold disrespect of the throne, and when he looked up at her in confusion, she just shrugged.

“Now isn’t the time for a general and her king, but a friend to another. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I almost wish you hadn’t told me,” T’Challa lamented. “But I am thankful that you did. I just don’t understand what she sees in him that she doesn’t see in me.”

Okoye set her spear down and shushed T’Challa, leaning him into her side as she rubbed his shoulder. “She’s a man she thinks she can fix. She sees a mission, a project, and she won’t let go until she realizes her work is done. You know how she is about her work.”

“But _Erik?_ ”

“Yes...she could do much better,” Okoye agreed, “but she could also do much worse. She could have chosen W’Kabi, like my foolish self.”

That pulled a chuckle out of T’Challa, and he hugged Okoye back. “Thank you, and you didn’t make a bad choice; he made that choice himself.”

“And yet it is Erik who occupies space in Wakanda instead of him,” Okoye muttered. “Nakia is very much in love with you, but she is also in love with herself, and she will always put herself before you. That’s why you love her, isn’t it? Because she won’t hesitate to tell you when you’re being hard-headed?”

T’Challa rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “All of you do. Shuri, mother, even now Ayo has begun getting bold and told me the other day it’s time for a haircut!”

“She’s not wrong,” Okoye winked. “We get on you because we care. Nakia, you know how she throws herself into work. Erik is nothing more than an assignment for her. Trust me, she doesn’t love him, and he doesn’t love her. He loves _getting_ to you, which he successfully has done now.”

T’Challa swung his head up to look at his general. “He’s using her?”

Okoye shrugged. “Is she not using him? Wasn’t that the basis of her plan, to use him?”

T’Challa kissed his teeth and shook his head. “What is that girl getting herself into?”

Okoye stood and collected her spear. “She’ll be fine. She’ll be done with him before you know it, watch, and then she will come back to your side as she always does. Just because the spy is at home doesn’t mean she’s not on a mission. Wait for this...tryst to be done with, and when she realizes she cannot fix a man because a man is not a project, she’ll be back.”

As Okoye walked out the throne room, T’Challa called after her, “When did you learn so much about Nakia?”

Okoye stopped, smirked, and turned around. “The same time as you, but I never had the rose-colored glasses on that you wear, my king.”

 

* * *

 

The small house on the outskirts of the city sat isolated among the rocky cliffs of the mountains overlooking the city. The location was selected due to its proximity to the city, but also because the mountains overlooked it. If Erik escaped, he only had two options: the Jabari, or the Dora Milaje. Neither seemed like very fruitful ventures, but it left Erik alone, which was all he wanted now.

Even with Nakia’s warm presence, he had grown bored. Getting a rise out T’Challa had been fun, certainly, but he had no goals anymore. He’d accomplished to a certain degree his plans, but now was left with no real choices. He couldn’t fight his way out, and the ankle bracelet they made him wear ensured that he couldn’t get too far anyways. He’d have to wait again, as he had all those years preparing to usurp Wakanda, if he wanted an opportunity.

But he wouldn’t be able to plan or even make a move with Nakia breathing down his neck, which she currently was. Erik rolled over in bed to face her sleeping form and watched her. Asleep, she looked almost angelic, like a Disney princess. His heart made that twinge, that feeling he’d learned to call _longing_ , because he wanted to keep pretending this way of life was an option for him - it wasn’t. And it wasn’t for her either.

Dragging out their relationship was torture, and that wasn’t what he did.

From the moment they’d first kissed, to the many nights spent together, Erik knew there was an expiration date on his happiness with her, because there always was. If she was dedicated to her work, so was he, and he wasn’t about to keep following her around to save the world, despite what she or anyone else thought. He had his own life, one he wanted to return to. Sticking around with a partner never lasted long; they usually were dead by now.

But Erik wasn’t going to kill Nakia. He couldn’t. He wanted to, but the amount of love and kindness she’d shown him had gotten under his skin and forced him to rethink his actions and thoughts. She had changed the packaging, but he was still the same brand of mess she first encountered. _Erik Stevens: Now with new and improved Compassion™._

He couldn’t _fathom_ how much of a better man T’Challa was than him. He’d come at him in every single way, from every angle, and all T’Challa did was yoke him up and dismiss him. _I would have killed us both,_ Erik thought to himself. He stroked Nakia’s cheek and sighed. She was genuinely a good person, even if she _did_ make bad decisions. Her heart was in the right place, but that didn’t negate that he was still a prisoner, _her_ prisoner.

_And I’ll be damned if I’m trapped by pussy._

 

* * *

 

When Shuri received the alert that someone had entered his lab without authorized access, her mind immediately jumped to the killer who was left to roam the city without watch or limitation. She pulled up his tracking signal and her heart dropped when she saw that he was only a couple hundred meters away and fast approaching. Shuri leapt from her work bench and tried to run to the elevator, only for it to open, and Erik to step out and smile down at her.

“Hey shorty,” he greeted easily. He looked harmless in his sweatpants and t-shirt, glasses resting on his face. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Shuri backed against the wall and grabbed a test spear she had shelved for more pressing projects. “Don’t try anything, Killmonger.”

Erik scoffed and walked past her. Shuri kept her spear pointed at him, but he only continued walking until he found a seat at her work bench and sat down. Hesitantly, Shuri followed, never lowering her spear.

“I haven’t heard anyone call me that in a minute. So what’s up, what you doin up so late?” Erik didn’t touch anything, but his hands remained in his pockets, so Shuri stood a few feet back just out of reach.

“You cannot just walk into my lab and strike up a conversation! Even if it _is_ three a.m., and I’m _busy_ , so if you could just leave, _please_ ,” Shuri begged.

He snickered at her exasperation and finally took his hands out his pockets, dropping the bracelet of Kimoyo beads Nakia wore on the table. “I just wanted to know if I could get my own version of this. I don’t want anything else.”

Shuri lowered her spear, finally. “Kimoyo beads? They gave you a tracking bracelet, but not anything to communicate with?”

Erik held up his hands and shrugged. “I guess no one around here really feels the need to talk to me.”

Shuri slowly walked over to the table and sat on the bench, spear in her lap. “Is that why you’re really here, to talk to someone?”

The comfortable confidence in Erik’s body posture tightened. “Somewhat.”

“Okay,” Shuri conceded. She left his side for a moment to retrieve a new set from storage, and Erik beamed at her with thanks as she slipped it on. She explained the instructions of use, pointing out which is the A/V bead and the use of the others, such as his personal information, GPS, and communication. “Just press it and say the name of who you wish to speak to and they’ll be contacted. I’m programming in a few people, so you know who is reaching you and you can reach them if need be.”

Erik watched her as she worked, and Shuri felt slightly uneasy about helping him, but T’Challa said he was allowed to explore Wakanda as he wanted. And this way they could track him without the ugly anklet.

“I’ve added in my Kimoyo address too, in case you need anything else,” Shuri added. “Now why are you _really_ here? You could have came at a decent time like anyone else for this.”

“I’m not a decent person,” Erik began. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Yeah, you’re not exactly high on my list of favorite people,” Shuri snorted.

Erik smiled, and Shuri noticed his eyes looked sad. “Yeah, but for some reason Nakia thinks highly of me.”

“I know, and my brother won’t stop moping about it.”

“Yeah, I’m about to fix that. You gave me his address too? I’m probably gonna talk to him tomorrow.”

Shuri cocked her head. “You...are you going to _dump_ Nakia?”

He looked around at the lab, looked at his hands, and licked his lips. “Yep.”

“Wow,” Shuri whispered. “She’s never been dumped before. This is going to be wild.”

“Oh yeah?” Erik grinned. “I can tell. She’s spoiled.”

“My brother spoils her, but she’s very nice, even if she wasn’t nice to you,” Shuri finally found herself smiling back, comfortable finally with Erik’s presence. “She’s just mean when you get on her bad side.”

“I’m about to really piss her off then,” Erik muttered. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”

“Well you can’t _really_ go anywhere,” Shuri pointed at his ankle. “And no one would have you. Aren’t you technically AWOL?”

“Oh definitely. Didn’t feel like doing the paperwork officially.”

“Well, I hear Jabari-land is great this time of year. Mountains, isolation, plenty of people to fight who hate the rest of Wakanda. You’d fit in great.”

At that, Erik perked up and leaned forward. “I thought your brother worked things out with them?”

Shuri shook her head. “They still don’t like us very much, but we don’t like them either. Then again, we don’t really _know_ each other very well. He has a long road ahead of him if he thinks having their army back him up in battle against you is good for diplomacy.”

Erik laughed, and Shuri giggled at his amusement. He seemed...different. Less angry. Certainly less scary.

“I might take a trip up there. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Good luck. The Great Gorilla wouldn’t invade Wakanda just because you suggested it; he’d try t make it seem like his idea first,” Shuri explained, trying to hold back a smile.

“Then I guess I just have to be persuasive,” Erik rolled his neck dramatically and made a show of flexing his muscles, and Shuri laughed.

“You couldn’t persuade a kitten out of a box!”

“I persuaded you into giving me these beads didn’t I?”

“Oh, only because I was being generous!”

“So you were in a good mood and that’s why you ain’t killed me?”

“I didn’t want to take the honor of that from T’Challa!” They both broke out in quiet laughter, the sound of their banter filling the otherwise empty lab. By the time Erik finally said goodnight and left, he was walking out without anything wrapped around his ankle, and Shuri finally was able to rest for the first time in weeks.

 

* * *

 

It was the smell of something burning, and a heavy, smelly smoke that drew Nakia from under the warm covers of Erik’s bed. Had he tried to cook and was in the process of burning down the house? Nakia lifted her head and sniffed harder, frowning. It wasn’t food smoke, and it wasn’t something burning, but it was vaguely familiar. She pushed the covers back and pulled on her clothes to walk up front. She looked around, but only saw Erik leaning over his coffee table and mussing with something in front of him. As she came around, she realized what the smell was.

“Are you smoking pot?” Nakia’s voice raised in inflection, and Erik spun his head around quickly in surprise.

“Oh shit, you scared me,” he coughed up smoke and extinguished the blunt he had resting between his lips. There was weed on the table, a glass bong, a lighter, and a grinder.

“Where did you get all this? We don’t have weed in Wakanda!”

“Don’t trip, I got it while we were in D.C.,” Erik explained. “And maybe y’all should start growing some. It would help you relax.”

Nakia made a disgusted noise and folded her arms. “You’re getting rid of it. _Now_.”

Erik recoiled and screwed his face. “You not finna order me around in _my_ house. You can leave, though.”

“This isn’t like you.”

“Cuddling after sex isn’t like me, but you didn’t complain. You only care when it’s something you don’t like.”

“Erik, don’t make me send you back,” Nakia said tiredly. She didn’t understand why he was being difficult now, after all his progress.

But it seemed as if her threats didn’t make any difference, because Erik ignored her and went back to grinding up the flowers. When Nakia reached down to snatch the grinder away, Erik moved out of her reach. “You not about to start snatching shit from me either. I told you if you didn’t like it you could leave. And I’m not scared to get back in that cell, so you can drop the threats.”

“Are we really doing this? Over weed?” Nakia asked in annoyance. She had just woken up, but already she was irritated. Fighting with T’Challa was less aggravating, because at least he listened. Erik could be a brick wall at times.

And then Erik set his stuff down and looked up at her, resting his elbows on his knees. “When are we gonna talk about my feelings, and yours?”

The question blindsided Nakia like a side tackle. “What?”

“You don't wanna admit that you don't really care about me, but it's okay, because I don't care about you much either.”

Erik held no pretenses about what was going on between him and Nakia; he had figured it out from the D.C. mission. “I know you exploited my own fears and were using my brain against me, it’s cool. I’m kind of impressed, honestly. But even if you won’t admit you’re manipulative towards me, you need to own up to being afraid of committment, because fucking your boyfriend’s cousin as a rebound is pretty fucked up.”

“I will not be lectured by someone like you,” Nakia said coldly.

“You won’t? Maybe you should,” Erik furrowed his brow and pulled the side of his mouth up in disbelief. “Because it seems like only me and the bald baddie are the ones to call you on your shit around here. She does it because she’s loyal to T’Challa, and I do it -”

“To antagonize me?”

“Because I’m loyal to _you_ ,” Erik finished, standing. He pushed Nakia up against the wall and held himself over her, looking down as she challenged him directly.

It was like their first time, but where anger and arousal had once existed there now was only apathy and exhaustion.

“You read about me. You already knew what was wrong with me. You set me up to be fixated on you, and I hate it. I hate feeling like I’m alone when you’re not around. I hate that I _need_ you just to feel safe. I ain’t never needed anybody since my dad died, and then here you come,” he looked her up and down. “You and your lil twist out and slim thick ass. You smile and tell people how much you save others and make a difference, yeah I guess that’s nice or whatever. But you just run around and play pretend then come home and have a tantrum when you’re expected to be Nakia. You’ve killed people before. Your hands aren’t exactly squeaky clean. You -”

His words were cut off by Nakia moving to strike him across the face like she had with T’Challa, but unlike T’Challa, he grabbed her wrist and used her momentum to throw her to the floor. Nakia hit the ground with a grunt, catching herself before she hit her head. She held her breath and waited for another blow to come, but it never did. She pulled herself to her feet and stared at Erik, fear and betrayal written across her face.

Erik simply looked at her with a bored expression. “You must have lost your black ass mind if you think I'm gonna let you put your hands on me. You not gonna beat me up just because you're beating yourself up over _your_ life choices.”

“You...you…” Nakia stuttered.

“Don't act like you ain't never been hit by a man before,” Erik replied. “Maybe T’Challa lets you get away with that, but I'm not him. You keep thinking you changed me, and I'm not sure what gave you that idea.”

“We made love!” Nakia cried.

“We _fucked_ a couple times. It was good, but I know rebound sex when I see it. You not slick.”

“Don’t try to take the moral high ground with me! You don't know anything about loving someone! You don't know what it's like to care about anyone but yourself!”

“Nah, I do. I knew before you swooped in to try and play rescue ranger,” Erik said, stepping back as he rubbed his face. “I’m telling you what it _isn’t_ , and running away from a dude who loves you just because you can’t figure out how to compromise isn’t love. He said he’d wait for you; you think that’s still true now that he knows I smashed? Imagine how it must feel for him, to find out his girl fucked his cousin from his _friend._ Not just any friend, but the one who betrayed him in the first place! What should make me think you wouldn’t do the same to me?”

Nakia threw up her arms and let out a noise of frustration. “T’Challa and his feelings! I am tired of always being told to consider how he feels when no one shows the same consideration for me!”

She snatched up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “This is why I come and go, why I never stay! Now even an outsider is telling me how I need to respect the king of Wakanda, as if he isn’t a grown man! He can stand to have his ego humbled.”

“Getting humbled is getting your ass beat in a fair fight,” Erik said. He made no move to stop Nakia as he watched her gather her things. “Blatant disrespect is more up your alley.”

“I’m not being disrespectful! I’ve never cheated and I’ve always been honest,” Nakia called from the other side of the room.

Erik picked up the blunt from his small coffee table. “Lying by omission is not honest. I’m telling you this, as a dishonest nigga. You think you’re so nice, but at the end of the day, the only difference between you and me is body counts and how many wanted lists either of us is on.” When Nakia didn’t respond, he added, “And you can run away from me, but I’m not like T’Challa, I won’t sit here and wait for you to stop running from the truth. You walk out that door, we over with, ain’t no ‘I’m back please take me back’ shit.”

Nakia froze with her hand on the knob. The sound of a lighter clicking and the sharp inhale behind her the only indication that Erik had finished speaking.

“If I leave, what will you do?”

Erik sucked in his breath and replied in a tight voice, “Get over you.” He exhaled, and the door opened, then shut again.

Erik shook his head and stared up at the ceiling, relieved. Maybe now he could get back to figuring out what to do with his life. He stuck the joint between his lips and lifted his wrist, his new Kimoyo beads glowing with activity.

Well, there was one thing left to do.

 

Nakia stormed into her apartment and threw her bag on the ground, frustrated by how everything had played out. Who was Erik to develop a moral conscious now? Who was he to tell her how to love, when he had never known what it felt like until she showed him? She needed a strong drink, but no amount of spirits was going to change that he absolutely was right, about everything. It just hurt, to have her own fears and insecurities put on display so easily, as if she had never been secretive in the first place. Nakia was used to always keeping her guard up, the only person ever seeing her emotional being T’Challa and Okoye, but now a relative stranger had not only gotten her out of her panties, but led her into rethinking her entire relationship.

Nakia sat on the floor and tried to figure out what to do. She wanted to talk to Okoye, but she was still mad at her for telling T’Challa. No, the only person she needed to speak to was T’Challa himself, and Erik had made it clear she couldn’t run back to him. She had hurt him, and she had fixed him, _too_ well.

She raised her wrist and reached for her communication Kimoyo bead, but stopped short. No, this conversation needed to happen face to face. It was what T’Challa deserved.

 

T’Challa stood on the landing dock, waiting for Nakia to step out of the ship. When Erik had tipped him off, he’d been a conflicted ball of emotions: joyous that he’d broken up with her, but offended that he so easily dropped her as if she meant nothing. And maybe she didn’t mean anything to him, but T’Challa still valued her deeply. If Erik couldn’t see her worth, then he would quickly recapture his pearls cast before swine.

Nakia descended from the ship in silence. She carried her head tall, bag slung over her shoulder as she approached him. She looked at him as if this was just another mission to embark, and T'Challa schooled himself to be resolute.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” T’Challa asked cordially.

Nakia walked up to him and pursed her lips. “I’m here to apologize to you.”

T’Challa looked around for the presence of anyone else and finding no one, he nodded and motioned for her to follow. They walked through the familiar halls to the lift that took them up to the rest of the palace in total silence. T’Challa could practically hear Nakia’s thoughts racing as they walked along, her carefully still face betraying the way her heart raced, and T’Challa could hear it. His senses elevated, he could smell the nervous sweat in her pits and feel the unease in her posture. He’d fought side by side with Nakia multiple times, but never had she been more distressed than she was right now.

When they finally arrived at T’Challa’s private bed chamber, he took a seat in the common area and pat the space on the couch next to him. Nakia took the invite and seated herself, dropping her bag on his table.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” she began. “I keep giving you ultimatums, and you keep giving me chances.”

T’Challa hummed to show he was listening, but didn’t speak.

Nakia continued, “You’ve given me your utmost faith and trust, and I -”

“What you do on missions is of no concern to me,” T’Challa interrupted. “I hope you didn’t come back here to apologize for whatever...sanctity, you feel you’ve violated.”

Nakia covered her face and shook her head. His implicit forgiveness was _not_ what she needed right now. “T’Challa, there is no reason for us _not_ to be married, except that I fear what tradition brings to married queens in Wakanda. Does my life take a backseat for yours?”

T’Challa laughed, startling Nakia. “Every time I wanted to talk and you said you didn’t want to talk about this. You are like that Vine, of the woman running and the man asks, ‘Why are you running?’ That’s you, Nakia,” T’Challa grinned.

Nakia balked at the comparison and slapped his chest. “Be serious! I’m pouring my heart out to you right now!”

T’Challa chuckled and pulled her into his arms, which she obliged with no hesitation, climbing into his lap. “You remember how I said I’d wait however long it took?”

“But I’m not finished with my work,” Nakia said softly.

“I didn’t mean your work. I would wait until you came to me, ready. I assume you being here now means you’re done with Erik?”

Nakia nodded.

“What happened in the past is just that: the past,” T’Challa said. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s not to let the past define our future.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“Oh, I was furious when Okoye told me, but what could I do? Fight him and drag you back? Would you have respected me if I did?”

“Of course not!”

“ _Of course not!_ ” T’Challa mocked. “You underestimate how well I know you,” he kissed her nose. “‘And how much I love you. I cannot tame you like one of Okoye’s lionesses; that is what I _love_ about you. You’re strong and independent. A queen like you wouldn’t need me around all the time to make sure the country ran smoothly. I could trust you to even go overseas to represent us diplomatically. You’re perfect, even if you do vex me to the ancestors and back.”

Nakia kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes, but she smiled at T’Challa’s words.

“Okay, but I want to be able to still take missions.”

“Give your missions over to Erik. He seems more than capable of handling his own.”

“Then what will I do?”

“Who will help organize Wakanda for accepting refugees? Me? I am not good at planning the way you are,” T’Challa winked, and Nakia’s face lit up.

“Do you mean that? We’re really accepting refugees?”

“I told you, you should have just talked to me about finding some common ground...”

“Shut it!” Nakia kissed him happily, elation flowing through her chest. T’Challa’s arms wrapped around her, holding tightly as if scared to let her go.

“You can be a queen and still lead. We don’t have to stick to tradition,” T’Challa whispered. “You can do whatever you want as my queen. If you still want to go on assignments, I will let you.”

“T’Challa…”

“I only ask, that _if_ we decide to have children, you will _please_ just stay here,” T’Challa begged.

“Okay,” Nakia agreed quickly, even though the thought of having children made her heart race again.

“And we don’t have to worry about children right now,” T’Challa quickly reassured her. “I am just saying -”

“I understand, that’s fine. That’s fair...that’s more fair than what I’ve been to you,” Nakia agreed quietly.

T’Challa frowned. He pinched her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Stop beating yourself up. Who is this woman who hangs her head low and goes around groveling for forgiveness? That’s not the Nakia _I_ know.”

“How? How can you still want me after…”

T’Challa grunted quietly and nodded. “Right, that was a lapse of good judgement on your part, but I will consider it...charity.”

“My pumpum is not charitable!” Nakia squealed, and T’Challa laughed, holding her back from running away again. They pressed their foreheads together, and when Nakia looked into his eyes, she saw the same burning hope that drew her like a moth to a flame. She closed her eyes and kissed him, wishing this moment would last forever, and knowing she was ready to make it so.

“Let’s get married,” Nakia whispered against T’Challa’s mouth. His arms around her tightened, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Wherever you want, whenever you want. Public, private, I don’t care. I don’t care who comes, or what dress you wear. I just want you,” T’Challa promised.

And it felt good to hear that for Nakia, and his heart felt like a stampede of beasts beneath his skin against hers, and it thrilled her that he was so alive, so passionate for their future.

Together.


	5. Epilogue

“What do you want, Erik?”

Erik threw his shirt to the side and spread his arms. “Cultural exchange!”

“I said I wouldn’t fight you for Nakia!”

“This ain’t about her, this about respect!” Erik slapped his chest. “Come on, bruh. This your only chance to get back at me!”

T’Challa shook his head and began sliding the rings off his fingers. What could it hurt?

“Are we sparring or are you just letting me work you over?” T’Challa asked as he walked across the dirt ring. 

“You get your licks in and consider it even that I fucked yo b- girl,” Erik corrected himself.

T’Challa tilted his head in surprise. “I guess some good did come from your time spent with her.”

Erik rolled his shoulders. “Nah, I just can’t bring myself to call her a bitch after everything she did for me.”

“The solitary confinement was  _ her  _ idea.”

“Yeah, I know right? Ain’t that fucked up? Your girlfriend likes to play mind games, bro, watch out for that.”

“I know,” T’Challa said, and he drew back to punch Erik in the jaw.

Erik stumbled back a bit from the blow, but corrected himself at once. “Come on, is that it? That’s all you got? I was in her  _ guts _ , she was crying for my d-”

This time, the crack knocked Erik on his ass and he laid on the dirt sprawled out and disoriented. 

T’Challa’s face came into view, rolling his wrist.

“Was that hard enough?” 

Erik jumped to his feet and grinned, the gold on his teeth glinting in the setting sunlight. “Nice to see you stop acting like a bitch for once.”

The king struck him again, still smiling as Erik spit blood onto the ground.

“Do you feel better?” Erik asked.

T’Challa chuckled. “Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

Erik cracked his neck and spit again. He held his hand out for T’Challa to shake, and when T’Challa took it, he said, “I been good. I’ll see y’all around some time.”

T’Challa froze, gripping Erik’s hand tightly. “You cannot leave Wakanda. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t exactly a place for me here either.” When T’Challa tried to argue, he lifted his hand to silence him. “I’m not joining the war dog program. I was doing that for Nakia, but that's _her_ calling, not mine.” When T'Challa's face darkened, Erik reassured him quickly. "I'm not about to go killing people, damn I feel like I'm on parole."  


“You basically are," T'Challa agreed. "Then where do you think you will go that you fit in?” He had just broke fresh ground rebuilding his relationship with his cousin; he didn’t want to see it go that quick, but Erik was already feeling stuck here and expressing a desire to leave. As long as he didn't leave Wakanda, T'Challa didn't see any issue with it, but still...  


Erik looked up towards the mountains and shrugged. “I don’t know. I always wanted to go hiking.”

T’Challa followed his gaze, then shook his head. “You will be dead before you reach the summit.”

“Hey, I had a death wish and y’all interrupted that,” Erik grinned. He twisted free of T’Challa and began walking away. “If they catch me, I’ll tell them our family just sucks at killing each other or something. Worked for you, didn’t it?” He called over his shoulder.

T’Challa thought about the potential repercussions of allowing their fugitive to just walk out of Wakanda and into Jabari-land alive with no attempt to stop him. He’d definitely be caught, but maybe that was the challenge Erik needed.

“Bast help me,” T’Challa prayed quietly as he watched Erik walk off into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support for this story! I'll be writing a sequel, and if you live for mess and drama, please tune in!

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically, listening to India.Arie gave me the inspiration for Killmonger fic.  
> Also, I'm a huge Evangelion fan.


End file.
